"whetting my earppatite" what? Porus8 is a pumice felcher. But you my friend would felch a Klingon.

God is a pair of training wheels hanging up in some shed in Vermont watching the dust dance in a widows stale sun box.

On a frigid dank night late last yesterday. I found a gilded net with which I did play. It had a rod iron handle and a child proof button, and when I smelled at its sagging pouch I swore I nosed mutton. Shrugging my jaundice bare shoulders I set out to trap as many nuts as might I could from inside out of your crap.

Truly, as coherent as window shielding a moth at ninety mph. On a better note however it helped me arrive at a bowel movement.

I need air before I choke myself to death on your lower cased tribute to lower case tributaries.

Is it the ghost of my Schwinn Scrambler?

What are you shedding good poetry for fermented toad tit?

Maybe if you tried writing about something a bit more interesting than your attempts to grasp onto nothing that interesting and an even more uninteresting attempts at grasping.

What was in the box?

Brief, yet lacking a pair of.

Queerly, true.

Some words of warning, from one Christian to another. http://www.av1611.org/kjv/revolve.html

http://poetry.rotten.com/weightlifter/ Keenly observed and vividly documented

Have you ever experienced a 'jowling'?

Great image 'my lips are like razors your neck slit' Sul(ph?)fur soothes?

I think you need a smack to start you breathing

earpattite don't work but anti-lame is cool

Nice individual lines

Its not a pandoras box thing is it? contentedness? accepting?

Like a loft full of jumble, 'the a-team, fool' was my antique.